A Catastrophic Mistake
by thecakeisalive
Summary: John has made a really stupid decision - bringing Sherlock along to a formal occasion. How will it go? Rated M for possibly sexual references and language.
1. What has he done?

John realized only too late that the decision to bring Sherlock along to a party of one of his old mates was possibly the biggest mistake of his life so far.

They were seated in a cab on the way to the event. Sherlock was muttering quietly to himself again and his hand kept finding it's way through the gap between John's arm and John. The smaller man hurriedly pulled free.

"Jesus, Sherlock. Please don't do this _tonight_."

Sherlock smirked. "It's going to be...fun," he said dangerously cooly. John cringed at all the things he could possibly mean.

"Sherlock. If you insult these people _they will punch you in the face_. Understand?"

Sherlock said nothing but did that amazing smirk of his. God, that was so...no, _no. _Don't do this John. Keep your dignity.

Of course, he knew that would be impossible when Sherlock got started. Worry ate itself inside John's stomach as so many ideas came to mind at how many ways this could go wrong. John counted a few to pass the time.

Sherlock would purposefully insult many, if not all, of the people he'll speak to.

He could get himself into a fight/beaten up. The latter was more likely. John wondered how good Sherlock was at fighting...

He would be an utter dick to every girl John spoke to. Sherlock was _very_ overprotective.

He would behave like a child in front of people who matter when he wanted to go home.

Sherlock would keep sexually harassing him in public. It was a worrying thought anyway but John was dangerously aware that Sherlock was already slightly horny.

John inwardly groaned. What the _hell_ was he thinking, inviting Sherlock along? If he'd gone by himself the evening would pass uneventful. Quiet and pain-free. _You idiot, John._

But there was no turning back now. All he could do now was hope that the consequences of the worst decision of his life so far were less painful than he might dare to think.

**A/N **- So whaddya guise think? Should I continue? :3


	2. It Begins

**A/N – THANK YOU for all your reviews! You really made my day. So here is the next chapter, as promised. ^.^**

No amount of meticulous thinking and worrying from John's part could have prepared him for how much he had underestimated how wrongly this event could go. There was about 600 ways this could go wrong. Possibly if it wasn't Sherlock doing it. And it was Sherlock doing it. With help. From his sociopathic tendencies.

John placed his head in his hands and didn't bother to stifle his groan as they pulled up outside the Albany. Sherlock gave him a puzzling look but thankfully, _thankfully_ kept quiet.

The Albany was a pub in central London and tonight hosted a non-private party of an old school friend of John's. As they climbed out of the cab Sherlock immediately went inside, of course leaving John so pay the cabbie. As fucking usual. John hurried after Sherlock.

The detective was standing still (mercifully), looking around. His eyes shifted minimally, observing everything, and, worryingly, everyone. And the disgusted expression on his face told John all he needed to know. If perhaps too much.

A tired waiter came to take their coats. John gave his up and gestured for Sherlock to do the same. But Sherlock gave the waiter a nasty glare before thrusting his into the waiter's outstretched hands. The man smiled, slightly hurt, and scurried off. John leant close to Sherlock, a dangerous (well, as dangerous as he could manage) look on his face, and whispered harshly to the taller man.

"Now listen. You have to behave yourself tonight. Alright, Sher-"

Sherlock intercepted by grasping John's hand and leaning closer.

"And...what if I refuse?"

"Then all our reputations will be buggered into the ground," snapped John, yanking his hand away and leaning back. "Okay?"

Sherlock pouted in mock fear and unbuttoned his jacket, not taking it off, but young John an annoying sneak peak of that amazing purple shirt that he wears whenever it was least appropriate. No doubt it wasn't chosen purely randomly. John breathed heavily and cursed himself. It always managed to make John...

He barely resisted slapping himself. But he badly needed to. He need to pull himself together if he was survive he embarrassment of tonight.

Sherlock smiled evilly at John's reaction and provocatively prodded a finger at different groups of people around the pub.

"So, which ones are your...friends?"

It was blatantly obvious that he was choosing his words very, _very_ carefully. John didn't want to tell him, but he had to. He looked around and quickly found a large gathering of dangerous looking men laughing loudly and brandishing pints which they drank heartily.

"Them over there," he said grudgingly.

"Oh. Right. Them?" Sherlock said loudly, pointing again. He was going to do this on purpose.

A rough man saw him pointing and came over. John braced himself. Let it commence.

"Oi, you. D'you 'ave a problem with me or somethin'? Why the fuck are y-" He broke off as he saw John. His expression turned into surprise. "John! Me old mate!" He thumped the smaller man hard on the back. "'Ow are ya? 'Aven't seen you in ages! Come an' 'ave a drink with us!"

"Sure, Terry."

Sherlock started to talk. "I don't think he would want to."

The man gave Sherlock a death-glare which Sherlock didn't detect. "An' who's this? D'ya know this wanker, John?"

"Um...well, I-"

"Yes, he does. I'm Sherlock Holmes. His-"

John kicked Sherlock's leg. The detective sighed. "His...friend."

Terry narrowed his eyes and continued talking to John. "Well. Like I say, come an' have a drink."

"Did you not hear me?"

"_What?" _

"I said, John doesn't want to have a drink with you."

"Is that righ'? Alrigh', Sherlycock. But we'll let John decide, shall we?"

"Yes, Terry. I want to have a drink with you."

"Good. Y'see, prick? Let the man speak for 'himself, an' not 'ave other speakin' for 'im."

"Speak proper English, please."

John winced. This was going very badly. The man advanced on Sherlock who stayed perfectly still.

"Oh? An' I suppose you are Mr Perfect, are you, you tosser? Who d'ya think you are?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes. That's who I think I am."

John couldn't take this. "Sherlock. I think I need to talk to you."

Sherlock smiled nastily to Terry. "Excuse us."

John led him calmly enough outside. The cool air hit them without their coats but John was too red and angry to notice. They turned the corner away from the door where John suddenly grabbed Sherlock by the lapels and shoved him against the wall with all his might.

"_What,"_ he hissed, "is the _matter_ with you?"

"This is boring, John. I want to go back home."

"Oh no, not yet. We've just got here. You're going to have to behave yourself." Sherlock rolled his eyes and John yanked and jerked his lapels again. "_SERIOUSLY." _

Sherlock sighed, but slowly, slowly, nodded. "Fine, okay. Sorry John."


End file.
